


the ashes to prove it

by monstermash



Series: the midnight sun [2]
Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: M/M, Tags to be added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-07-30 05:54:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20092348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monstermash/pseuds/monstermash
Summary: A harsh wind blows as the fog rolls in, the trees shuddering in hushed whispers.“She’s awake.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im just gonna apologize in advance, because Wayhaven Chronicles takes place in the UK and i have no idea what the UK is like at all. and i know jack shit about police procedure other than really vague stuff. so My Bad, y'all.
> 
> (and blanket apology for anyone who seems ooc)
> 
> since i'm reusing my Deputy from fc5 for my Detective, be prepared for some weird shit going down lmao. and a lot of reckless behavior in the chapters to come because my boi excels at it

Something buzzes insistently against the wood of the nightstand, causing him to reach out clumsily; he’s still half asleep and judging by the very, _very_ pale morning light streaming in through the windows he’s only gotten a few hours of sleep.

“Turn it off,” Mason grumbles, voice rough with sleep as he continues to remain where he is draped over Garrett’s back.

Garrett manages to grab his phone and blinks blearily at the screen; there’s a series of texts from Tina and it takes him a few moments to focus on the words long enough to read them.

“Ah, fuck,” Garrett mutters.

“Sure,” Mason says and presses closer, making Garrett chuckle.

“Love the enthusiasm, but not that kind of fuck. Gotta head in to work.” He tries getting out from under Mason, but doesn’t get very far. “This would be a lot easier if you’d move.”

“Sounds like a _‘you’_ problem, handsome.”

“Dick.”

“Witty,” Mason deadpans.

“Only for you,” Garrett replies with a teasing lilt which makes Mason snort before finally rolling off of him.

Levering himself out of bed, Garrett’s mind is already running through possible scenarios of what awaits him at the other side of town by the woods while he tries not to trip over the pile of clothes that smell of rain on his way to the shower.

\---

Morning fog clings low to the ground, almost twining between his legs like a cat when he arrives, the soft sunlight and birdsong setting the tree line with conflicting tone.

Leaves and dead grass, still damp from last night's storm, squish beneath Garrett’s boots as he ducks under the yellow crime scene tape. A strong wind blows, making the autumn chill more noticeable than it already was, and he has to suppress a shiver, pulling his jacket tighter around him. Tina appears at his side, holding out a pair of gloves for him.

“A jogger found her about an hour ago,” she informs him as they draw closer to where the forensic team is already at work. “No ID, no visible wounds, but her clothing is definitely strange, especially for this time of year. You’ll see what I mean.”

Garrett nods at that; this isn’t the first time they’ve had little to no information to start with and it won’t be the last. “Anything else?”

“Other than Bobby lurking about, chomping at the bit to get a story? Not really.”

“Fantastic,” Garrett says dryly before shooting a tired smile of thanks to Tina.

“I’ll go make sure that slippery jerk doesn’t weasel his way in here,” Tina grins at him before heading towards the perimeter.

The scene itself is quiet, the forensic team working diligently around him; no blood spray, no signs of struggle, just the body of a young woman laid out beneath a willow tree, the drooping branches swaying in the breeze. At a passing glance, it would look like she was just taking a nap, but with a second glance at her, something was clearly wrong. 

The woman is dressed in a very thin dress, the fabric practically sheer, with plain gold jewelry on her ears and around her neck. There are flower blossoms and red ribbons braided into her dark blonde hair, and her feet are bare. In all honesty, if it wasn’t for the mud staining the hem of her dress, it would remind Garrett of an Alphonse Mucha painting.

Carefully, Garrett reaches out and lifts her hands from where they rest over her stomach, inspecting her nails; no nail polish, nothing obvious like blood or dirt beneath them, no rope burns around her wrists when he checks.

Again, no signs of a struggle, no defensive wounds. Maybe she was drugged? Or, considering the care she was placed here with, whoever did this may have cleaned her up. It’s odd, but Garrett has seen some pretty odd stuff over the past year and a half, so it’s not completely outside of the realm of possibility. Either way, it gets his mind running a mile a minute with theories, and—

Garrett pauses when the smell finally hits him.

It’s not rot, he’d know if it was, but this… 

“Lyons, do you smell that?” he asks the woman next to him; he’s not particularly close with her or anyone else on this forensics team, but he trusts her to actually answer him when he does speak with her. Most of her team aren’t ever happy to have to come all the way out to Wayhaven, and neither is she, but she’s definitely the most professional one out of all of them.

Lyons pauses, a frown pulling at her face as she sniffs the air.

“Now that you mention it, yes. It’s faint, but…”

Whatever it is, it smells awful.

“Maybe it’s her perfume?” Lyons suggests, just at as much of a loss as he is.

Garrett hums in vague agreement. It’s possible, but Garrett can’t imagine it’s a very popular scent considering how bad it is.

“Or maybe the flowers?” Garrett suggests in return, gesturing to the flowers in the woman’s hair. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to take one. See if Harvey at the flower shop can tell me what kind this is.”

Lyons shrugs, going back to her work. “Knock yourself out, Detective Rook.”

Plucking one of the small blossoms from dark blonde hair, Garrett feels the skin on the back of his neck prickle with the sensation of being watched. Discreetly looking around from where he’s crouched by the dead woman, he doesn’t find the source of his unease. At first, he thinks it might be someone from Unit Bravo, but no, they have clearance to crime scenes so there would really be no reason for any of them to watch from the shadows of trees.

There’s nothing around them but trees and shrubs that grow thicker and closer together the further in one goes.

Rolling his shoulders in an attempt to soothe away the unease, Garrett turns back to the task at hand. But there’s not much to find, or anything at all really, except for the dead woman.

“We took some samples,” Lyons explains to him, about half an hour later, as two people from her team put the woman in a body bag. “But I doubt we’ll find much. Your secret agency team might have better luck. She’ll be sent to Verda for further examination.”

The sensation of being watched comes back stronger than before, making Garrett stop in his tracks, which causes Lyons to stop too. She raises a brow in question at him.

“Thanks. I think I’m gonna take another look around here.” There probably isn’t much of anything to find, but if whatever is watching him is supernatural, he has to confront them without an audience.

“Suit yourself,” Lyons shrugs before continuing on without him.

Once Lyons and her team are gone, Garrett heads back the way he came, past the willow tree and deeper into the woods. He probably shouldn’t go looking like this by himself, and he’ll probably catch hell from Adam (again), but this is part of his job and nothing will stop him from doing it.

Judging by the faint smell of Not Exactly Ozone, Garrett knows he was right in assuming there was a supernatural watching them; he’s learned how to _“sense”_ residual magical scarring in the relatively short amount of time he’s worked with Unit Bravo and the Agency.

Garrett stops when he finds the spot where it’s concentrated the most, roughly a few yards deeper into the trees, where everything starts to grow in tighter and more tangled together. Nothing seems out of the ordinary. That is, until Garrett happens to look down.

A pair of footprints in the dead grass; they look like they’re burned into the ground, but there’s no burnt smell in the air, no fading heat.

Pulling out his phone, Garrett takes a quick picture of the strange footprints, and leaves after casually scraping mud over them with his foot in an attempt to hide them from view on the off chance someone (and by _‘someone,’_ he mostly means Bobby) decides to have a look around.

\---

Garrett stops by Harvey’s flower shop before returning to the station.

It’s a small, easily over looked store front on one of the narrow side streets that branch off of the town square and it’s been around since before Garrett’s step-dad had been born. It’s easy to think that this place will always be around, and that Harvey will too, but the man is getting up there in age, bone white hair and deep wrinkles giving his age away all too easily.

The bell chimes when Garrett enters and he doesn’t have to wait long before Harvey comes out of the back room with a warm smile on his wrinkled face.

“What brings you here today, Garrett? Here to buy a gift for that man of yours?”

Garrett lets out a huff of laughter at that, fond smile growing on his face at Harvey’s assumptions despite how many times Garrett has explained as vaguely as possible how things are between him and Mason. Although he does briefly entertain the idea of giving flowers to Mason in front of the others, mostly just to see how he’d react; half of Garrett still expects Mason to react the way he did to everything when they first met – standoffish and uninterested – but now it’s more likely that the vampire would try to tease him about it.

“Not this time,” Garrett says apologetically, not bothering to correct Harvey; it’s a losing battle, the way Garrett sees it. Instead, he shows Harvey one of the flowers he’d taken from the young woman. “I was wondering if you could tell me what kind of flower this is.”

Handing it over when Harvey gestures for it, Garrett waits.

“Hmm… the scent is off, though I can’t place why, but this is a Red Dahlia. Someone was betrayed and lied to about it.”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, the flower symbolism. Red Dahlias mean betrayal and dishonesty,” Harvey explains as he hands it back. “I’m assuming this has to do with one of your cases? If so, it could be that there’s a more personal meaning to it, but generally speaking that’s what this specific flower usually means.”

A half formed thought settles in Garrett’s mind.

\---

Spending most of the walk over to the station googling _‘flower symbolism’_ on his phone and getting a lot of different websites that don’t always agree on meanings, Garrett can’t help but think about those strange footprints he found in the woods.

Why would a supernatural take an interest in watching humans investigating a crime scene?

_Maybe it wasn’t the investigation they were interested in,_ pops into Garrett’s mind and he grimaces at the thought.

If it’s someone after his blood again… fuck, just the thought of it is making him tired.

He’s not being constantly targeted like they had originally feared, but it happens more often than any of them would like. But Garrett gets the feeling that this isn’t the case this time. Whatever the reason the supernatural had for observing, it’s probably not related to his blood.

Hopefully.

With a heavy sigh, Garrett heads into the station, making a beeline for the coffee maker; so far all he has to go on is a possible flower meaning (and maybe the footprints) and absolutely no clue as to who the young woman is, and, as usual, it’s looking pretty likely that he’s going to have to deal with keeping Bobby as far away from this case as possible (because really, when is Bobby _not_ making an ass of himself), and to top it all off, Garrett still has to deal with the never ending stack of paperwork that has made a home on his desk.

It’s looking to be a bad week, but at least he got to wake up to Mason this morning and—

Shit, he’s still gotta let Unit Bravo know what’s going on.

(There’s always the chance that it’s not related, but Garrett’s never really been a big believer in coincidence, not for something like this.)

He sends off a text to the group chat, just a quick _‘hey, found this at a crime scene this morning. Any ideas?’_ with the picture he took attached. Garrett doesn’t expect any immediate responses; Nate and Adam aren’t wild about texting, Mason usually won’t answer the group chat unless it’s an emergency, although Felix is probably the best bet to get any response from.

Racking his brain on his still really limited knowledge of supernaturals, Garrett comes up with nothing, so he settles for watching the coffee machine fill slowly. 

Honestly, until someone texts back, he’s better off checking any recent missing persons reports to see if he can find a match for the young lady down in the morgue; it’s a bit of a long shot since he would’ve recognized her, at least if she was reported missing in the area, but he’d like to avoid having to go look through the records down at City Hall. Not that he won’t if it comes down to it, but he and the Mayor aren’t exactly… friendly. 

_‘Barely civil’_ is the best way to describe their working relationship. They get along best when they’re far away from each other. Or if Unit Bravo are around to be the center of the Mayor’s attention instead. Or Garrett’s ma, but he tries to ignore the Mayor’s blatant infatuation with her.

“Oh no, _please_ tell me someone else made the coffee.”

Garrett blinks as his thoughts fade away to find Tina looking nervously at the now full coffee pot.

“My coffee is fine.”

“Yeah, if you don’t have taste buds.” She fills a mug anyway, pretty much dumping the entire sugar jar in it, and grins at him. “Then again, you’re American so you probably don’t have them anyway.”

“Ouch,” Garrett clutches his chest in mock indignation before grabbing a mug for himself. “You say that, but we both know you’d still drown your coffee with sugar no matter how I made it.”

“Aw, you know me so well, Garrett.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> probably should've broken this into two chapters

The morgue is freezing when Garrett heads down about an hour or so later. 

Shrugging off the shivers that skitter across his spine, Garrett pushes the door open with his free hand as he takes a sip of his coffee. The place looks just as bleak and sterile as it always does. Even more so with the dead young woman laid out on the examination table, a sheet pulled up to just below her chin and the florescent lighting making her skin look waxy and sallow.

“No drinks,” Verda recites without looking up from his desk, filling out request forms for blood labs. Only when he’s finished writing his signature does he finally look up.

“So you keep saying.” Lifting a brow pointedly at the corner of Verda’s desk where a small cluster of coffee mugs have taken up permanent residence, Garrett only grins as he takes another sip. Verda gives him a look that’s more fondly exasperated than anything else. “Did you find anything?”

Leaning back in his chair, Verda sighs, shaking his head.

“Considering I haven't had the chance to perform the autopsy yet, there’s nothing I can really tell you that you don’t already know, and lab results will take at least a day depending on how generous the hospital is feeling.” Verda gives a wan smile, looking far too apologetic for something he has no control over. Garrett reaches out and rests a hand on his friend’s shoulder, giving a brief comforting squeeze. “At best, I can tell you she’s at least eighteen years old since she has wisdom teeth.”

Not the best outcome, but at least now there’s a little more to go on.

“Thanks, Verda. That gives me a good place to start looking through missing persons reports.”

He hums in acknowledgement, though as Garrett opens the door to go, Verda calls out to him. “Oh, one more thing. I’d recommend checking out theatre groups.”

“Is this your way of telling me I should work less? ‘Cause I gotta say, your delivery could use some work.”

Verda lets out a huff of amusement as he gets up and heads over to the examination tables, waving Garrett over.

“Hardly. Though considering all the shenanigans you get up to, I definitely suggest you take a holiday at some point.”

“I don’t think good ole Captain Sung would like that,” Garrett comments wryly, “Even if he’s on a permanent vacation himself.”

“Well, it’s something to think about. Anyway,” Verda continues as gestures to the middle table where the woman’s outfit is laid out. “Her dress isn’t something you’d find in stores, but it is professional.”

_Huh._ Garrett’s eyebrows shoot up at that. Looking closely at the hem and needlework, yeah, Garrett can see it too. He should’ve picked up on that back at the crime scene, though he was preoccupied with trying to figure out who was watching them.

“So a theatre group might be missing one of its costumes.” Not a bad line of thinking; even if nothing is missing from the theatre groups, the costume designers could probably point him in the right direction. Garrett grins at Verda. “Good catch; who knows, maybe we’ll make a detective out of you yet.”

“I hope not. I’d like to deal with Captain Sung and Mayor Friedman as little as possible.”

“Nah, I wouldn’t throw you to the wolves like that. I’d start you off on something small.” There’s an impish grin on his face when he continues, “Like Douglas Wrangling Duty.”

The aghast expression on Verda’s face is one Garrett doesn’t think he’ll ever forget.

\---

This part is easy; there’s only one theatre in Wayhaven and it’s within walking distance of the station. Well, technically, pretty much everything in Wayhaven is in walking distance, but it’s the excuse Garrett uses the most so he doesn’t have to drive. The hatchback is a decent car and he doesn’t hate driving, but he prefers going on foot whenever he can.

That’s something he finds himself missing the most about Montana. It’s been a couple years since he last went back to visit, even longer since he _actually_ lived there, but Hale County will always be home to him.

Don’t get him wrong, he likes living in Wayhaven and he’s not planning on leaving the town, but sometimes…

Sometimes, he finds himself thinking _what if._

What if he had moved back to the US, back to Hale County? What if spent his entire childhood there instead of only going back as a guest? What if they hadn’t left—

Exhaling sharply through his nose, Garrett lightly touches the old, mostly faded scars around his left eye. That last one isn’t really worth thinking about. It just leads to more questions that still keep Garrett awake some nights.

But Wayhaven and Hale County have enough things in common that keeps him from missing Montana too much. The calm quiet, the relaxed pace of life, how the town doesn’t encroach too much on the nature surrounding it.

Or that’s how it used to be, at least.

Garrett winces at the sudden loudness of nearby construction; with the influx of people, both supernatural and human, over the past year, there’s been more of a demand for space, to expand. At least, that’s what Mayor Friedman claimed; Garrett wouldn’t be surprised if the man was lining happily lining his pockets with generous _gifts_ from land development companies, not to mention it would play into the Mayor’s fantasies of grandeur.

He pauses, watching the construction from the sidewalk. There’s some basic structural supports and judging by the equipment they’ve got out, it looks like they’re digging. New apartments, maybe?

Glancing at the sign hanging from the chain link fence, Garrett scoffs, rolling his eyes as he starts walking again.

It’s a damn _parking garage._ As if there’s a lot of driving going on in town; Garrett can literally count on one hand exactly how many people drive around Wayhaven on a daily basis (that aren’t delivery vans) and still have fingers left over.

\---

Eccentric is the best way to describe the Red Eye Theatre.

On the outside, it looks like any other building in Wayhaven, the only thing giving it away is the sign. A large, stylized eye with a red iris. 

The inside is a whole other story.

String lights flashing different soft colors, mirrored walls making it feel as if the main room goes on forever. There are more of the signature red eyes carved into the tiled floor, some shut while others are open wide. Probably done that way to look like an optical illusion; stare at them long enough and it looks like they’re blinking.

It takes a while to find someone from house management, an older woman with thick cat eye glasses and a sweet but raspy voice.

“Thanks for taking the time for this, ma’am,” Garrett says as he follows her lead through the claustrophobically narrow halls.

“Oh it’s no trouble, detective. And please, call me Dot.” The hall goes on for a bit, twisting and turning, until finally they come to a stop in front of a door that isn’t labeled. Come to think of it, none of the doors they passed were, and Garrett can’t help but wonder how confusing that must be. “Olive hasn’t reported any missing costumes, but with how absorbed in her work she can get I doubt she’d even notice.”

He nods, not really sure what to say to that, and opens the door. Or he tries to. It’s either locked or stuck.

“That door always gives people trouble. You need to lift and push,” Dot supplies helpfully from behind him.

The door pops open when he does, creaking almost ominously as it reveals a barely lit room filled to the brim with clothes on overcrowded racks. When he turns to thank her, Dot is gone.

_Huh, she moves fast for such a small lady,_ Garrett thinks briefly before moving on from the long empty stretch of hallway. 

Stepping into the room is like walking right into a brick wall. Well, a brick wall that is made of burning incense and the faint scent of mothballs instead of actual bricks. It’s not a pleasant smell. Nose scrunching up in distaste, Garrett makes his way down crowded rows of costumes; the space left for walking is so narrow that he has to move sideways lest he knocks them over.

There’s a sound that he picks up on when he’s halfway to the far wall; a sewing machine and the occasional muttered curse.

With any luck, that’ll be Olive.

Trying to follow the sound of the sewing machine, Garrett manages to somehow make a few wrong turns and ends up even farther away; the racks of costumes are set up in such a way that Garrett feels like he’s in a corn maze instead of a theatre’s costume storage. It doesn’t help that the room’s lighting is shit. He can barely see his hand in front of his face.

After a few more attempts at trying to navigate this cloth labyrinth, Garrett finally finds Olive.

The lighting here is an improvement compared to the rest of the cavern like room. She looks to be about his age, though with the disheveled appearance and the dark circles under her eyes Garrett would’ve mistook her for a college student in the middle of finals if hadn’t been for the towering stacks of fabric surrounding her.

“Excuse me,” Garrett interrupts. Olive continues working, all of her attention focused on the task at hand. With a quiet sigh, Garrett tries again. “Excuse me.”

The effect is immediate. Olive startles, back snapping ramrod straight from being hunched over, wide dark brown eyes blinking rapidly in surprise until her gaze lands on him.

“Oh, hello there.” Olive leans forward in her seat, eyes narrowing in scrutiny. Or maybe it’s because of how badly lit it is in the room. “Dot must’ve let you in. What do you want?”

The corner of his mouth hitches up ever so slightly in a smile at the annoyance in her tone at being interrupted. It’s something he can sympathize with; he knows he can get kind of waspish himself whenever someone disrupts his focus on something he’s invested in.

“I’m Detective Rook,” he introduces himself as he pulls his phone out of pocket, unlocking it to show her the photo he took of the victim’s dress. “I was wondering if this looked familiar. Either as a missing costume or if you know who might’ve made it.”

The annoyance drops away as Olive studies the photo, only reaching out to zoom in.

“It’s not my work, though it does look…” Olive trails off.

She stands abruptly, her work lying forgotten as she heads off into rows of clothing racks. Unsure if he should follow Garrett remains where he is; he can hear her rummaging and before too long, Olive returns with a garment bag.

“Like I said, _that,”_ she points to the photo on Garrett’s phone as she unzips the garment bag, revealing a similar dress, “Is not my work, but it does look pretty close. _That_ one has more of an asymmetrical hem compared to mine.”

“What play is this one for?” Garrett asks as he checks the tag on the bag. Most of the information is left blank except for the role.

_‘The Witch’s Daughter.’_

Olive taps at her chin, deep in thought. “Honestly? I have no clue other than the last time it was popular was definitely way before my time. The original dress was practically rags by the time I went back through the catalogue a few months ago and redid the older costumes. You’re lucky I did or I wouldn’t have recognized it.”

“Any chance you remember the name of it?” he tries, but at her scoff he knows it’s a lost cause.

“My concern is with wardrobe. If you want obscure and niche plays you’d have better luck asking Dot.”

\---

Asking Dot didn’t get him anywhere either.

Apparently the costume and the forgotten play it belonged to was before her time too. It’s frustrating how quickly this lead has turned into a dead end, though he did leave his card, told her to call or come by the station if she remembered anything about the play. It’s honestly probably a longshot but there’s always a chance. 

Deciding that he needs to clear his head, try to look at this from another angle, Garrett hooks left, taking the scenic route back to the station.

It’s easy to let his mind drift out here, easier still if he had something to focus on; Garrett always did work better with his hands, a sense of calm and relief he hasn’t really been able to replicate with anything else. Working on car engines is usually his go to, but there’s not much he can do for his old hatchback. The damn thing is on its last legs and Garrett doubts it’ll last through the end of the year.

There’s enough money saved up in his account – not to mention the slight bump in his pay from the Agency – that he could buy something a little newer, a little sturdier than what he’s got now. But that’s something to think about later when it’s actually necessary.

What _is_ necessary right now is finding out who the victim is; his best bet is to go through missing persons reports when he gets back to the station since Tina is already making the rounds. If they don’t turn anything up then they’re gonna have to play the waiting game or mark her down as a Jane Doe.

As he gets farther down the path, he goes over what he knows; the victim is at least eighteen, there were Red Dahlias in her hair though according to Harvey there’s something off about their scent, her dress is professionally made and looks pretty much identical to a costume to a forgotten play. There are no signs of a struggle and she was found beneath a willow tree and…

Okay, it’s a ridiculous old superstition, and Garrett’s already kicking himself over this, but considering how much ridiculous supernatural bullshit that’s happened over the past year he _has_ to at least check. Even if he’s not really sure how he’d check for something like that, but still. He has to, owes it to the young woman in the morgue.

At best, he’ll feel kinda foolish but at least he can definitely cross that possibility off his list. At worst, Garrett will never be able to trust nature ever again.

Turning off the beaten path, Garrett heads off into the trees.

\---

The ground is still soft beneath his boots from the rain and the clouds overhead threaten to rain again.

The willow tree looks unmoved, untouched, boughs falling forward like a veil. There’s a twinge of unease pinging at the back of his mind, though he can’t place why.

Unsure as to _what_ kind of signs there would be if the superstition turns out to be true, Garrett sweeps over the area again. There’s nothing new, nothing that has changed since a few hours ago. Even the covered up footprints are as he left them; smeared over with a thick layer of mud.

This time, however, he decides to go further in where the trees grow closer and tighter together. It isn’t easy, the mud clinging to his boots as if it were trying to drag him down into the earth, the clouds cracking and down comes the rain, but keeps hold of a few low branches to keep his balance.

Garrett is heading deeper than he meant to, but there’s something spurring him on, pulling him further and further in.

He wonders if this is what a siren song is like, unable to listen to common sense despite the warning signs.

Probably not. Nate could explain it to him and it’d probably be something completely different to this. Because this is just Garrett doing some inadvisable shit again – Mary May would throttle him if she were here – because the world around him drops into a sudden, unnatural silence; no birdsong, no distant hum of the town.

Hell, he can’t even hear himself breathing.

Surrounded by dead silence and thick clusters of trees.

Skin crawling and silent heartbeat making his rib cage shake, Garrett knows he’s not alone out here, out in the silence where the mud clings too closely and the rain stings.

There’s movement out of the corner of his eye, something moving through the trees. Fast, almost _too_ fast, but he catches a glimpse of color that stands out vividly against the dark browns and greens. A wall of a vaguely familiar stench hits him as soon as he sees the movement. The hairs on the back of his neck that stand on end and a voice that he knows is his common sense – it's always sounded too much like Mary May – tells him to _‘leave.’_

_He shouldn’t be here._

The muscles in his leg bunch and shift in anticipation.

_Run._

It’s too bad Garrett’s never been good at listening to common sense.

Lurching forward, Garrett gives chase, ducking and weaving between branches and roots while the whole world remains silent even though the rain should be causing racket. His lungs burn and his stomach is cramping with the urge to retch as the stench becomes more and more unbearable, but he can’t, not with it this close.

He reaches out, fingers almost grazing it.

Garrett’s so close, he just needs to—

_Snap._

Blinking hard at the sudden sound, Garrett finds himself standing by the covered footprints as the rain beats against him.

“Garrett?”

He blinks again and looks over his shoulder to find Felix looking at him, worry visible on the vampire’s face.

“What are you doing?” Felix asks, pitching his voice low but making sure to still be heard over the rain. “Are you okay?”

It’s only then that Garrett realizes just how cold he is, soaked right down to the bone and shivering.

“I…” he starts then stops, needing to clear his throat; his voice is rough as if he’d been shouting, but he knows he hasn’t. “I’m fine. Came out here to check the scene again. See if there’s anything we missed.”

“For three hours?” Felix asks incredulously and no, that can’t be right. It can’t have been three hours, because it’s a ten minute walk to the willow and Garrett hasn’t been out here that long. The worry settles in even heavier on his friend and Garrett doesn’t want to know what expression he must be making at the thought of _three hours._ “I know you can really get into the zone during a case, but this really takes the cake, buddy.”

There’s nothing Garrett can really say to that, because it is true. Garrett does have a tendency to get absorbed in his work. Although, he usually doesn’t lose himself in some weird day dream for three hours. Because that’s what it was, right?

Still a little disoriented with a growing headache pounding up against the back of his eyes, Garrett lets Felix lead them back towards Wayhaven.

“Like, I can definitely admire the intense work ethic you and Adam both have, but next time you should at least check your phone every now and then,” Felix says, tone light but there’s a strain there. Garrett can’t quite place what it is other than lingering worry. “Mason was _so_ moody. Thought he was gonna start clawing up the furniture like a cat or something.”

Garrett snorts at the image that pops into his head. “I wouldn’t worry too much about that. Adam would get him with a spray bottle.”

The remaining tension in Felix’s posture melts away as he laughs at the thought of Adam spraying Mason with water.

\---

Garrett doesn’t even protest against taking the rest of the day off; his clothes are plastered to him uncomfortably and there won’t be any lab results for at least a day or two. Not to mention all of his leads, few as they were, have gone to dead ends.

Though he does insist on stopping by the station first to get what few notes he has on this case. Mostly to work on at his apartment, but he also doesn’t trust Bobby to not find a way into his office; Douglas has gotten better at turning Bobby away and keeping his mouth shut around the reporter, but sometimes the volunteers let things slip.

During the walk over to the apartment, Felix is unusually subdued, but he does let out an exaggerated groan when his phone goes off.

“Think I can get away with hanging out here if I say I’m pulling guard duty?”

“Probably not,” Garrett smiles ruefully, but he remembers what happened last time Felix tried that. It had been pretty funny, but man was Adam pissed. Although it’s still entertaining to see him question his life choices whenever someone so much as mentions roller skates.

And then Garrett is left alone.

Sighing through his nose, Garrett heads up to his apartment, more than ready to wash off the rain. Exhaustion weighs heavy on him as he goes through the motions. He should eat something, but sleep is calling him right now, though he does check his phone.

_[6:23] yeehaw: [IMG File]_

_[6:23] yeehaw: hey found this at a crime scene this morning. Any ideas?_

_[8:09] Suavewell: Looks familiar. Are they still there?_

_[8:11] Paper Airplanes: uh, u got smth u wanna tell us natey? why’ve u been looking at monster feet 👀 👀 👀_

_[8:12] Angst Du Morpain: Stop._

_[8:12] Angst Du Morpain: Felix change my name back._

_[8:13] Paper Airplanes: sorry i can’t read suddenly_

_[10:36] Suavewell: Garrett?_

_[12:22] Paper Airplanes: not to alarm anybody but maybe someone should stop by the station?_

_[12:23] Paper Airplanes: like idk i just have a bad feeling_

_[12:37] [Redacted]: They haven’t seen him since he left to check out some theatre_

_[12:38] [Redacted]: Which was about 4 hours ago_

_[13:05] Paper Airplanes: Found him_

Huh. Garrett’s brow furrows as he reads the time stamps again. He really did miss a few hours. Which is weird, because he could’ve sworn he hadn’t been out there anywhere near that long. There are a couple of missed calls but no voice mail, and a couple texts from Mason, which Garrett is guessing were sent when they were all looking for him.

_[12:40] [Redacted]: Where are you_

_[12:56] [Redacted]: Answer your phone_

A frown tugs its way onto his face. It shouldn’t have been that hard to find him; Garrett knows they can hear his heartbeat from anywhere in town, and he hadn’t been that far, just a little further into the woods. Well, it’s something he can ask them about later.

Plugging in his phone, Garrett finally crawls into bed. He’s asleep before his head even hits the pillow.

\---

In his dreams he’s always back in Montana.

It’s weird because he hasn’t lived there since he was very young, since before his ma remarried and they moved here to Wayhaven, but it’s always Montana, in that incredibly tiny town he was born in. Always running through the fields that surrounded it, with Billy and Mary May, or sitting down by the river, but not this time.

No, this time he stands alone in the woods where the trees seem to stretch endlessly up towards the sky like he remembers from his childhood. The smell of damp wood and fresh rain is something he’d recognize anywhere.

Something feels… off.

Like he’s being _watched._

And there’s something moving in between the trees. He can feel his heartrate pick up, beating just slightly out of time, as his vision begins to blur at the edges. Without even thinking about it, he stumbles after the figure, chasing the pink-purple mass that vividly stands out against the dark colors of the forest around them.

But the further in he goes, the more tightly packed the trees become until he no longer recognizes them, unruly roots tripping him up though he does not fall despite how sluggish he feels.

Not until a pair of gnarled, almost translucent hands wrap around his forearms, sharp nails digging into his skin like barbs, and drag him down face first into the dirt.

_“You’ve lost someone, haven’t you?”_

Nose to nose with a long, wrinkled face he doesn’t know, foxglove blooming in the eyes, a sharp smile that stretches too wide, revealing more of the flowers that seem to burst towards him; Garrett can feel his skin crawl as the flowers whisper to him. He tries to move away, tries to wrench himself out of the too painful grasp, but another pair of hands twists sharply in his hair, forcing his face deep into the flowers, making him gag at the overpowering stench of the leaves before it turns into him choking on the flowers.

_“Would you take it?”_ the flowers whisper in a lilting tone that leaves him feeling sea-sick._“The chance to bring back someone you lost?”_

The whispers grow louder and louder, fearful and pleading and—

Garrett wakes with a start and a choked off gasp, his green eyes darting around wildly, vision still blurred, but whether that’s an aftereffect of the dream or his body being slow on the uptake of wakefulness is up in the air.

His lungs are still struggling to work right as he continues to gasp and dry heave around nothing, stomach cramping painfully.

It takes a few moments that feel like an eternity before he can disentangle himself from the blankets, legs shaky when he gets up, panic racing through his veins as he crashes into the bathroom.

This feels like dying. 

Hunched over the sink and retching, unable to breathe right.

One good cough and suddenly air is dragging harshly through his heart and lungs, though the phantom touch of hands and suffocation remain.

The sound of his own breathing rings loudly in Garrett’s ears as he stares at his reflection in the mirror; pale and shuddering, exhausted. There’s an unpleasant, skin crawling sensation dancing along his nerves and he rubs his arms roughly trying to chase it away, until the palms of his hands run along something slick and the pain erupts all along his arms causes him to look down.

Dread dances along his spine at the hand-shaped bruises on his forearms, blood trickling from small, shallow cuts that drip onto the white counter.

_‘You’ve lost someone,’_ a voice that is not his own rattles around in his skull. _‘Haven’t you?’_

In the sink is a single foxglove flower.


End file.
